Walk With Me A POTC Christmas Calendar
by mamazano
Summary: Jack Sparrow takes Will Turner on a trip down memory lane. Who knows where their path may lead.
1. Chapter 1

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day 1

Rating: G

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them. **  
**  
Summary: Jack takes Will for a stroll down memory lane. Who knows where their path will lead.

****

On the morning of December the first, Will drowsily slouched himself toward the kitchen, giving himself a small laugh as the floor seemed to dip under his feet still, even when Jack had graciously spent the past two days easing the withdrawals of the sea with the lull of his own.

Rubbing his eyes with one, and getting a glass out of the cupboard with his other hand, running water from the tap until cold enough, Will paused to double-take on what hadn't fully registered on the first glance.

On the kitchen table sat what seemed to be a bundle of cloth wrapped into a roll, about a cubit wide, a bright fir-green ribbon tied in a bow around it, against which leaned a simple, white card.

Chucking down his drink of water, Will deposited the glass on the counter and approach the roll with increasing curiosity.

The card bore his name, written by Jack's hand, and inside the folded cardboard, there were a few lines introducing Will to what to expect of the packet;

'_Within there lies histories, lived and re-lived, some of them remembered, some forgotten, some, mayhaps, even better to be left there, which we cannot know, before we find out on our own._

_Will you, Will Turner, do me the honour of allowing me to take you a stroll down the memory lane? _

_Yours,_

_Jack'_

Tugging open the bow, Will found the wrap of cloth heavier than he'd anticipated, and carefully unraveled it, revealing rows of pockets, each neatly stitched to the canvas wrap, each closed with an assortment of buttons, some of which Will instantly found familiar.

On each pocket, there was an embroidered number, all twenty-four of them, and although the stitches of the pockets themselves proved Jack still knowing how to mend a main sail, the numbers were iron-on patches.

Straightening his personal Christmas calendar out, Will patted some of the bumps, then, intrigued, unbuttoned the pocket declaring this day.

Will fingered the red beads of the rosary, each with its distinctive black cap. Rosary beans, found all over the islands, beautiful and deadly.

****

"Ironic, isn't it?" Jack had said the day they'd picked up the souvenir at the local market stall. "How many paternosters were mumbled over these deadly beads, I wonder."

"Deadly?" Will ran the smooth beads through his fingers, each one identical to the next.

Jack nodded. "Aye, beautiful and deadly." He took the rosary from Will and held it up in the sunlight. "There is enough poison in just one of these bright beauties to kill a grown man." He turned the beads over and mused, "Remember seeing a mate of mine, on one of me first ships, die a dreadful way after eating just two of these, on a dare." He shuddered. "Took him three days to die, weren't nothing any of us could do."

"That's terrible!" Will looked at the assortment of necklaces and bracelets on display, like so many drops of blood on the table's cloth. "How can they sell them if they are so poisonous?"

Jack forked his fingers and said in an ominous voice, "Because they ward off the evil eye." He picked up a bracelet and added, "The locals call them 'jumbie beans' for that very reason."

Turning to the wizened old woman running the booth, Jack held up the rosary and asked, "How much?" before delving into his pocket for the coins. Then, with a flourish, he placed the red beads around Will's neck. Patting them gently to Will's chest, Jack smiled. "No evil spirit shall haunt you now, dear Will." He let his fingers linger on the beads before snapping his fingers and saying brightly, "Just…try to keep them out of your mouth, love."

"Promise," Will smiled as the two resumed their stroll through the marketplace.


	2. Chapter 2

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day 1  
Rating: G  
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them. **  
**  
Summary: Jack takes Will for a stroll down memory lane. Who knows where their path will lead.

****

"Jack?" Will patted at the fourth pocket of his Calendar inquisitively, his fingers having touched upon nothing when he'd unbuttoned it on its hold under the framed canvas print of a duck in a coffee cup.

"Yes?" Jack looked up from his laptop, hair tousled, just undraping his morning-muzzled brain enough to perform basic maneuvers.

"It's empty," giving the pouch one more brush, Will turned to Jack, equally drowsy, still, the excitement of finding yet another item linking them to their past pounding in his chest. "There's nothing there."

Squinting through one eye, Jack checked the number on the pocket, then leaned back, crossing his legs under the table, reaching his coffee mug, and waved an airy hand, "It's there," Jack smiled cunningly into his mug, "I swear I'm not cheating."

______________

"Guess which one?" Jack stood in the room, barely gotten back from negotiating a parallel, alternative means for the East Indian Trading Company's monopoly over the spice trade, hands behind his back, looking at Will with glee sparkling in his eyes.

"I'm not sure I want to see what is in either," Will said with a dubious glance at the man in front of him. "How did it go?"

"Fine, fine," Jack waved a hand to sweep the unimportant issues aside. "With a bit of luck, we'll not have the King's Navy at our tail while making large sums of money deporting black pepper to Portugal…" Lifting his chin expectantly, Jack saw the matter handled. "Now guess."

"Left," Will announced with a smirk, knowing full well that Jack's right hand was empty, the swish giving him away.

Jack rolled his eyes inward dramatically and put out his left arm, hand still clenched in a fist. With a dramatic pause between each, he slowly opened his hand, one bejeweled finger at a time. There appeared to be nothing there.

"You cheated," Will said, giving Jack a knowing smirk. "As per the usual."

"I did not!" Jack waved his open palm under Will's nose impatiently.

Will squinted at Jack's hand, peering closer until his nose was practically touching. He gingerly plucked the small object from Jack's palm and held it up to the light.

"A… bean?"

"Not just any bean, my dear." Jack took the tiny red seed and held it reverently. "This here is a magic, lucky bean."

"Magic lucky bean." Will folded his arms. "And you are Jack the Giant Slayer."

Jack seemed stunned for a moment, then carefully leaned closer to Will, saying in a quiet voice; "Darling, there ain't such thing as giants," he straightened himself, thoroughly confused, "how could I've slain one? …Unless, there's a bean stalk you'd like me to climb…"

Picking the small bean from Jack, Will smiled at him fondly, "Yes, Jack, that's about the size of it."

"Oh, no worries, then," Jack smiled smugly, pointedly ignoring any indication of anything than his point in case: the red seed on Will's palm, no bigger than an average peppercorn. "Now that is not just your ordinary garden variety bean you have there."

"You already said that," Will said, studying the trinket, frowning at it, "It appears to have something stuck in it." He began to wriggle the small white stopper awkwardly, biting his lower lip in concentration.

"Here, let me," Jack said, helpfully, holding both his hands under Will's.

Seeing it best to let Jack do the honours, Will dropped the bean on Jack's palm, following keenly as the miniscule cork unstoppered.

"Now," Jack started in an educating tone, "in here, what you're about to find is nothing less than twelve elephants."

"Elephants," Will said, incredulously. "In there." He pointed to the red bean Jack held between thumb and forefinger.

Jack just gave an enigmatic smile and gently tapped the bean against his palm. Out fell several small white objects, no bigger than mites of dust.

"Elephants," Jack beamed, "granted, you need to look carefully, in order to see their finer features," Jack demonstrated with his hand the trunk of an elephant, "but they are elephants nonetheless." Pausing for an enigmatic spell, Jack bowed forward, sharing a secret; "And each one will grant you a wish."

"There are thirteen of them," Will stated soundly, much to Jack's astonishment.

"What do you mean?"

"The elephants, there's thirteen of them."

With Jack inspecting his hand suspiciously, Will poked at the stopper, "thirteenth."

"Humph," Jack said, giving the miniature elephants a jab. "The legend only specifies twelve – twelve wishes, one for each elephant. Seems a bit greedy of you to be wanting thirteen of 'em."

"You were the one that brought up the wishes." Will held up the ivory stopper. "And, if the elephants grant wishes, logic would say number thirteen is just as lucky as the other twelve."

"But you must understand," Jack tried to hold his nerves, stepping to the table in the room, "it's the inside that counts. The, shall we say, excessive one, in on the _outside." _Daintily, Jack spread the miniature beasts on the wood, quietly spreading them out, counting.

"The biggest one is still an elephant," Will grumbled begrudgingly, not entirely buying into Jack's theory, yet, his interest piqued at the impossibly small items on the table. "How are they made?"

"Nobody knows," Jack proclaimed with certain pride of the undecipherable. "It's magic."

Will opened his mouth in a silent, all-encompassing, "Ahh."

Jack sighed, conceding to the fact that there were, indeed, thirteen elephants, and gave a meek look at Will, then promptly licked the tip of a finger, picked one of the wafer-thin elephants up and after giving it a quick, suspicious glare, did what any other logical person would do in a similar situation, and popped it into his mouth.

"What are you doing?!" Will's alarm was obvious.

"What? Twelve elephants, Will. Satisfied?" Keeping his lips nigh sealed, Jack uttered, "suddenly twelve's not enough for you? You'd wanted that one more wish?"

Chuckling, his eyes gleaming, fully understanding that Jack couldn't possibly bring bad luck aboard the _Pearl_ once they embarked, Will took a step forth, shaking his head slowly, holding Jack's gaze. "It was just granted."

"Oi!" I'm not that easy," Jack joined Will's mirth with feigned indignance, swallowing just in time with Will's lips sealing his own, the slight possibility that Will was conniving, and only trying to get his unlucky wish back flashing in his mind when their tongues met, Jack soon forgot all his niggles, as Will broke the kiss enough to mumble a sincerely curious question, "Mmph, Jack? Why twelve?"

"Ah!" Lifting a finger, Jack smiled against Will's lips, then descended into a deep, thoughtful frown, pecking small kisses at Will's lower lip. Finally, he lowered his hand resignedly, then landed it firmly on Will's bottom. "I have no clue, love."

------------------

Staring at the red seed, lost in a reverie, Will almost didn't notice Jack getting up and coming to him, startled, pleasantly, at the low, silent voice asking, Jack sliding his arm around Will's shoulders, "What d'you reckon, eh?" Jack looped Will eyes to look into his own. "Any of those wishes come true?"

Wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, Will gently uncorked the ancient bead, and shook out a single flake of an elephant upon his palm. Reaching his lips to Jack's ear, Will closed his fingers over the minute ivory item, his eyes fluttering shut, as he claimed, "each and every one, Jack."

------------------


	3. Chapter 3

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day 1  
Rating: G  
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them. **  
**  
Summary: Jack takes Will for a stroll down memory lane. Who knows where their path will lead.

****

It was now day eight of the Christmas calendar. Will had been surprised, amused and even mystified so far at the assortment of memories Jack had chosen to stash in the previous pockets. Now, with the snow piling up outside the flat, and Jack off to the shop for some breakfast items _(Darling, we cannot have a proper English breakfast without scones. And marmalade. Must have some of that as well," Jack had ticked off on his fingers. "And those little pastries you are so fond of. I__'__ll just pop down to the baker__'__s and leave you to your thoughts." Then with a kiss and a wink, Jack had departed, bundled up like an Eskimo, still not acclimated to the cold English winter.),_ Will settled down in front of the fireplace, mug of steaming hot coffee at hand, to see what the day's pocket had to offer.

Will stared at the little wooden box, which Jack had tucked inside the calendar for this day. How had he come by it, he wondered. Will had thought it lost long ago. He glanced up at the clock on the mantel, Jack should be returning from the shop soon. His gaze returned to the box in his hand, as he lifted the latch and opened it, a torrent of memories washed him back into his past.

------

The churchyard was not as he remembered it, but smaller, shabbier, the weathered gravestones leaning, as if the sorrow permeating the air around them weighed them down. The worn gravel path was obscured by the previous night's snowfall, unblemished by either man or beast.

Will Turner hesitated at the wrought iron gate set in the crumbling stone wall. His many years as Ferryman still did not erase the ache of loss, the years fading away as he recalled her dying words.

------

"Take this, Will. Your father wanted you to have it."

His mother clasped her hands around his, pressing him to take the gold coin. The grotesque skull mocked him, the smell of death surrounding him.

"Go, find him," his mother had whispered.

"But where?" Will fought back his tears. "How will I find him? He could be anywhere."

His mother closed her eyes and Will thought she'd fallen asleep when she spoke again. "In my drawer." She wheezed, each word a struggle.

Will went over to the dresser and opened the drawer where his mother kept all her keepsakes. Under the childish scrawls and clumsy drawings was a small hinged wooden box, the shape of a compass, but smaller. He remembered seeing his mother sitting by the window with it in her hand, watching, waiting.

Carrying it back to her bedside, Will held it out for her. Smiling, she nodded. "Open it."

Inside the small box was an intricate design made up of tiny shells, arranged in geometric patterns. In the center were three words. _THINK OF ME_.

"Your father, he said these were common in the islands. Take this with you. That is where you'll find him."

------

Will brushed the snow from the stone, running a slow finger along the simple inscription. _THINK OF ME_.

Reaching into his pocket, Will took the small posy of flowers he'd bought from the flower girl in the lane and laid them gently on the snowy grave. Standing up, he laid his hand flat on the stone, letting the cold seep into his skin, all the while giving his own warmth to the tomb.

"I found him, Mum." Will's voice was quiet, as if he'd not want to disturb the peace. "Found your Bill. He meant to return, but, well, things went wrong."

Will paused, then added, "He's a good man, just as you always said."

As Will brushed his hand on the headstone, a calm settled within him. There was nothing more to be said, no need for words. Not anymore.

With a final sweep of a finger across the words on his mother's grave, Will smiled and turned, leaving the grave without another glance.

He'd made his peace with both of them now. It was time for them to make amends of their own.

------

The tranquil nest of the memories was swept away by the tsunami of Jack's return from the shop. Stomping snow off his boots, he burst into the room, arms full of brown paper bags spilling over with the bounty of his foraging. Life, bright wonderful life flooded the room as Jack babbled on about scones and snow and scandals, all the while shedding wet coat and scarves on his path to the kitchen.

Jack shut his mouth at the sight of Will palming the day's trip to time long past, a look of worry passing his features, until he found Will's eyes gleaming with mirth rather than sorrow.

Familiar with both the story behind the inscription on the headstone of Mrs. Turner, as well as the history of the Sailor's Valentine in Will's hands, as he'd been right there, watching from a distance, as his beloved made it to the end of a long, long path, Will's words made perfect sense, as he looked at Jack, at the wooden box, and then Jack again; "Do you think we should pay her a visit?"

-------


	4. Chapter 4

Will snirtled at his twelfth find in the depths of the pockets, the tiny plastic object rousing an immediate association with numerous little things, which, when combined, were truly worth savoring. No wonder Jack had seen it suitable to keep one of them…

-------------

New to the town, Jack and Will perambulated around, looking in shop windows, savoring the crisp autumn weather. Halloween was two days away, and many of the storefronts were decorated for the season. The wind was brisk and there was a hint of snow in the air. Not the time of year when one's mind turned to ice cream.

So, never one for the ordinary, when they passed the tiny ice cream shop, tucked between a hardware store and a beauty parlor, Jack insisted they go inside.

"Ice cream?" Will had asked, incredulously. "I'm freezing, Jack. Last thing I want is something cold."

"It'll be fun," Jack tried to convince, pointing at a sign excitedly. "Look, they have thirty-one flavors to choose from."

"Why would anyone need thirty-one different flavors of ice cream? What's wrong with vanilla?"

"See? That's the problem with the world these days," Jack brushed aside the words, pushing the door open with an apprehensive Will in tow, the bell above jingling cheerfully. "It's been reduced to one, bland, blur of a single homogenized flavor, no real sense of adventure anymore."

"I like vanilla," Will muttered in quiet indignance, but followed Jack into the brightly lit store. Its décor, black and white checkered floor and bright pink wrought iron, glass topped tables and chairs, complete with pink and white striped seats, made Will feel like he'd walked into Candy Land.

The shop was empty, except for a pimply-faced youth behind the counter, his shock of red hair sticking haphazardly out from under his white paper hat. One entire side of the store was taken up with glass-fronted ice cream coolers, one of which had Jack's nose practically plastered against.

"Look, Will!" Beckoning the man who half expected Hansel and Gretel to appear any moment now, Jack marveled at the abundance of choice. "Have you ever seen such a selection?"

Will was studying the sign on the wall, listing the different flavors, including the Flavors of the Month; Pumpkin Spice, Egg Nog, Apple Pie a la Mode, these seasonal flavors he could understand. But… The Rummy? Frankenberry? Count Chocula?

"May I help you?" the teenager behind the counter asked in a bored voice.

Will smiled politely. "Not very busy tonight."

"Nah, no one eats ice cream in October. You're the first customers I've had."

"Well then," Jack said, joining Will, "You won't mind letting us try a few flavors, will you," Jack paused and read the boy's nametag, "Nathan. You've got the time."

"Sure," Nathan said cheerfully. "Pick your poison." He grinned, fetching a cup full of small, colorful , bright fluorescent spoons. At Jack's raised brow he added, "For the season, you know. Aliens. Monsters. Brides of the Atom… "

"You see, Will," Jack explained, smirking at the eye roll Will gave at Jack's tone. "You can get a small, and usually pink, spoon sample of any ice cream." Joshing Will on with the lecture, Jack nodded in all his exaggerated seriousness as if convincing a skeptical child of there really being Santa.

"And even multiple pink spoons! Or, like in this here instance, green, glowing spoons, if your little heart so desires. And you know what the whole goal is?" Leaning towards Will, cunningly readying to reveal a well kept secret, Jack whispered loudly; "If you have a taste, and you like it, you might try a whole scoop."

Armed with a green spoon in each hand, Nathan saw his opportunity arise when Will only stared at Jack for a spell, then mouthed soundlessly '_Vanilla_.'

"So what first?"

Will studied the sign studiously, and then the colorful array of tubs in the cooler. Aided by a sharp jab of an elbow to his side, Will sighed resignedly, and frowned. "Um, I think I'll try… Monster Mash?"

"And you?" Nathan turned to widely grinning, beaming Jack.

"The Rummy, if you'd be so kind."

------

Thirty-one minutes, flavors, and a literal mountain of small bright spoons later, the weary Nathan, chin on hand, watched as the two men haggled over their flavors of choice.

"Vanilla," Will said firmly.

"Coconut cream pie? Cookies and cream? Rocky Road?" Jack asked hopefully.

"No, Jack. I tried them all, at your insistence. I still like vanilla best."

Sighing, Jack turned to the bored attendant and said resignedly, "We'll take vanilla."

"Cone or cup?"

"Cone."

"Waffle or sugar?"

"Um, er, William. Which cone?"

Will smiled. "A pint. Hand packed, to go, please."

"No cone?"

"No, Jack. You said it was my call."

"Not even a sprinkle? A cherry?"

"We have everything we need at home." Will thanked Nathan for his assistance, and took the bag with the ice cream. "Look, it's snowing." He pointed out the front glass window, where large, wet flakes of snow were beginning to fall.

"Might as well close the shop," Nathan said. "No one ever comes in when it snows."

The two men left him with a wave, and began trudging their way down the sidewalk towards their flat.

"Will? What toppings do we have at home?" Jack asked curiously.

Will just smiled enigmatically. "You'll see."

------

Hours later, the two men were stretched on the rug in front of the hearth, the well served, empty container of ice cream discarded in favor of more tasty pursuits. Lulled by their lovemaking, Will reclined in Jack's lap, while the latter ran his fingers lightly through his hair. Sighing deeply, Will snuggled closer to Jack, eyes half closed in peaceful bliss. His sleepy revere was interrupted by Jack, who asked suddenly, "Why did you insist on vanilla, when you could have had any flavor?"

Will kissed a trail down from Jack's neck to his ear, gathering his thoughts, then pressed his forehead on Jack's head with a content sigh. "I don't need any other flavors, Jack. You're about all the spice and topping I could hope to handle."

At Jack turning to look at Will, he captured Jack's lips in the perfect balance of tastes, lingering in the delectable onslaught on his senses as his fancies were all there at once.

Parting, Will smiled gleefully, tenderly brushing his thumb over Jack's lip; "Besides, vanilla _is_ my favourite."

------

Twirling the brightly colored spoon between his fingers, the smile playing on his lips occasionally hidden with a lip-bite, Will sat on the sofa, the heady, tasty mix of Jack and vanilla ghosting on his tongue as if it had all happened yesterday.

A sudden rummaging sound from the kitchen disturbed his reminiscing, but before he could set out to investigate the source, Jack stood at the living room door, an opened pint of vanilla ice cream in hand, and licking his finger clean of the sample he'd apparently hadn't been able to resist.

Jack's eyes gleamed merrily as he offered the treat to Will with an innocent quirk of his brow, a nigh coy smile, and the most bewitching word he could conjure; "Breakfast?"

------


	5. Chapter 5

Standing there, flabbergasted, Will turned the packet this way and that, wracking his morning-muddled brain to the extremes to figure out why Jack would possibly be referring to with a condom, of all things imaginable. It wasn't like they'd ever needed one. Well, by the time they existed… Oh, and for those few experiments which led to the mutual agreement that strawberries definitely should be consumed as strawberries, and cocks enjoyed _au natural_… But this. What was the meaning of _this_?

Jack, hovering around and following keenly Will's reaction, he thought to give the man a small hint; "Willow? Is there anything I could get you from the store?"

------------

Shopping with Jack was always an experience. For the most part, if they were shopping for something Jack wanted, it was a pleasant enough outing. But heaven forbid Jack be dragged along on something as mundane as quick run to the corner grocer for some essentials.

It was bad enough to have Jack wander off, only to round a corner and find him at the frozen meat bin, juggling the Cornish game hens. Or sampling the produce. Or trying out the different air fresheners by spraying them in succession.

Or when he gallantly offers to push the trolley, which usually results into him finding the most mischievous looking, freckle-faced kid around, and challenging him to a race to the dairy section. That is, if he doesn't just use the trolley as a tank to infiltrate through enemy lines, which, Will must have handed to him, worked wonders in the circuses of upcoming holiday seasons.

But the time they were politely, yet unmistakably, asked to leave the premises and preferably never to return, was the time when Jack had amused himself by randomly planting packets of condoms in unsuspecting customers' carts. Which had all been fine and well, until that one charming lady, two rascals in tow and her belly pointing towards the heavens caught him in the act, and couldn't quite find the humour in it.

After a brief exchange of words between the woman and Jack, Will, having followed the absurd unfold, was uncertain whether to fall on the floor laughing, or simply gather himself and pose as the legal guardian of the lunatic. With a deep, calming breath, Will thought of smoked herrings, and opted for the latter.

Which, naturally, when you're merely fetching some cheese and popcorn with Jack Sparrow, leads to said lunatic bowing down gracefully, apologizing profusely for his behaviour, and promptly appending himself to the nearest clothes rack, drooping from a clothes hanger and marveling enthusiastically in not very discreet volumes, about the novelty of knowing exactly how it feels like to be a pajama.

By the time they'd reached the house wares section, someone must've alerted the security, since Jack hadn't gotten even half way through adjusting the row of alarm clocks to sound off three minutes apart, when he was rudely interrupted.

Jack, dashing for his foolhardy escape, explained that he was 'only disarming them, for the love of God, RUN!' and skulking between the aisles, darting past innocent bystanders, who had arranged their most fetching smiles on their faces, undoubtedly suspecting they were on candid camera, since there just wasn't any other explanation for a grown man to be running around while humming the James Bond-theme, Jack, slightly breathless, halted in front of Will, saluted in full attention, and announced, to anyone who cared to listen, that the 'mission was accomplished'.

Indeed, somewhere along the line Jack had managed to find the cheese, the popcorn… together with a sign warning of wet floor.

Will glanced down the nearby aisle, where several employees were striding towards them with a determined air.

Plucking the sign and the nearly empty condom box from Jack's hand Will placed the sign in front of a door marked '_Employees Only_', then, with a quirk of a smile, arm firmly around his waist, steered Jack towards the exit.

Both of them made their best efforts at blending in the queue, triumphing in succeeding with losing the bloodhounds from their tracks, and managed to pay for their purchases as if nothing out of the ordinary had never happened.

With the innocent flair of a choir boy, Will surreptitiously planted the next to last condom into the grocery sack of a young man they brushed past while leaving the store. Who knew what the young lad's evening was about to offer. At least he came prepared.

Safely packed in their car from the flocks of frantic shoppers, not to mention avoiding the risk of getting arrested, Will turned to Jack, and could not restrain himself a second longer.

With Will rendered into a ball of howling laughter, and his head leaning uselessly against the steering wheel, Jack reached to stroke Will's back, his own amusement mixed with his words as he struggled to get his words out; "You'd rather I drove? I'm not convinced of your driving under my influence."

"Did you…" Will couldn't get the rest out before another unrestrained snigger took hold of him. Scrunching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, he finally mustered; "You did notice you tossed one of those in a nun's basket?"

After that, Jack, barely standing himself, got out and walked to the other side, half dragged, half lifted Will from the driver's seat and lead him to the passenger side, where he slumped in a chuckling heap, each of Jack's antics flowing freely in his mind, in a stream which was unstoppable. "Good God how much I love you, Jack."

----------------

Lifting his eyes from the silver packet which had the Pope, of all things as the décor, Will gave Jack a wicked grin, "Finish your coffee. We have shopping to do."


	6. Chapter 6

-----

The sound of the alarm clock brought a string of muffled curses from Jack as he fumbled around over his head before finding the intruder and promptly flinging it against the far wall, where it whimpered and fell silent. Will snuggled deeper into the warmth of their bed, sleepily making a mental note to buy a less annoying alarm clock, while Jack groaned and buried his face in the warmth of Will's neck, mumbling in his ear about the unfairness of work and why did he have to brave the bloody winter's chill when it was much more pleasanter here, in bed. With Will.

"Because you have a job." Will had reminded him, but not before enveloping Jack in an inviting embrace, which of course only delayed Jack that much longer.

"I'll blame the roads," Jack had grinned, as he navigated the more pleasing routes that made up the wonders of Will Turner.

Eventually the inevitable was faced, and Jack rose, showered and headed into town, promising the day's Calendar offering would not disappoint.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the warmth of his steaming cup of coffee a poor substitute for Jack, Will nonetheless was eager when he opened the day's pocket. Inside was a circular piece of plastic that brought back a torrent of memories.

Will rubbed the white casino chip absentmindedly with his thumb, lost in thought once again. However, this time the memories were both pleasant and tragic. His mind drifted back to that hot, sultry summer, when rumba and revolution consumed the island, and the sounds of slot machines was replaced with machine guns echoing in those long-ago nights, shattering the peace of paradise.

----

It had all started innocently enough, with a suggestion from Jack to spend the fortnight of leave granted to the Ferryman in steamy, sensual Havana, It was 1957, a time of unfettered freedom for the tourists that swarmed from the steamships, the weekenders descending from the nightly flights from Miami, the pleasure seekers who sought fun in the sun and romance under the stars.

Will would have been perfectly content with spending his time ashore in blissful solitude with Jack, but Jack had insisted that he see the Tropicana nightclub while they were in Havana. "Ask your average person who's visited Havana what they remember," Jack had said, "and it's always the same three things – Morro Castle, a bottle of Bacardi and Tropicana nightclub."

"Or a church," Will had pointed out fondly.

"Ah!" Jack held up a finger, "I most pointedly referred to the "average" person. You, my darling, are anything but that." He grinned wickedly and added, "Though, on this visit, we won't be going to church. I have other, much more better plans."

And so, that was how Will found himself with Jack in the backseat of a taxi, careening down the Malecón on their way to the famous Tropicana nightclub.

"It says here that Tropicana is the largest and most beautiful nightclub in the world," Jack said, consulting his Tourist Supplement. "Well, at least, it has long boasted this, and no one has yet come forward to contradict it, so I'm supposing it's true." He turned a page and began to read off statistics.

"_There is no nitery anywhere in the world that matches the Tropicana for beauty as well as size. Tropicana is located on what was once a country estate, its tropical grounds with palm trees amidst its outdoor tables cover more than 36,000-square-meters. Able to accommodate 1750 nightly customers, the Tropicana is a resort spa unmatched anywhere else. For in addition to musical extravaganzas featuring lovely Latin girls, the club also has legalized gambling that includes everything from dollar slot machines to dice and roulette."_

"Sounds positively… large." Will said, sinking back into his seat with a resigned sigh.

Jack glanced at the cab driver and surreptitiously snuck a hand onto Will's thigh and gave it a squeeze. "Precisely! And all that largeness leaves approximately 28,000 square meters of well-kept gardens for other, er, pursuits."

Will slid his hand around Jack's and smiled. "Well, when you put it _that_ way…"

Tropicana was located on the outskirts of Havana, and it was quite dark by the time the cab drove under the concrete arch spanning the entrance to the long drive, on which colorful, blinking neon lights spelled out _TROPICANA_. The road was lined with stately royal palms, their silver trunks illuminated by their headlights. Further along, through the tropical tangle of ferns and vines alongside the drive, they glimpsed the famous Tropicana muses, life-sized marble nymphs frolicking in a circle amidst a multi-colored spray of water.

The cab drove past the fountain and pulled to a stop underneath a swooping fan-shaped canopy. Other guests were arriving and being greeted by uniformed attendants, elegant ladies in cocktail dresses, accompanied by dapper, tuxedoed men. As the cab rolled to a stop and the door was opened, Jack brushed off his white linen pants and donned his Panama hat, before stepped quickly out of the cab. Will followed more slowly, the bright lights dazzled his eyes, the swirling colors and exotic scent of the surrounding gardens almost overwhelming his senses, long dormant from many years at sea.

The present-day Will closed his eyes. He could see it still, the sparkling chandeliers, the wide expanse of red carpet, the gambling room, just off the main lobby with its green felt tables and slot machines, and beyond that the nightclub's two dining, dancing and show areas. One outdoors, with tall royal palms rising among and over the tables; the other, the famous Crystal Arch, a huge, modernistic arch-like structure for use used in inclement weather.

They had chosen to sit outside, in a grove of palms under the stars, the night air perfumed with the sweet smell of jasmine and gardenias. The orchestra music swelled around them like waves on the shore, the tranquil murmuring of the other diners and rum helped ease Will's initial trepidation of the cabaret until…

"Showtime! _Señoras y señores_. Ladies and gentlemen. And a very good evening to you all, ladies and gentlemen. _Muy buenas noches, damas y caballeros_. Tropicana! the MOST fabulous nightclub in the world. – _el cabaret_ MAS _fabuloso del mundo_ – presents …

The thing that got him were the girls in the trees. From Jack's description, Will had expected dancers on stage and in the aisles, but somehow failed to imagine a mini-jungle teeming with semi-clad women gyrating from branch to branch, driven on by the pulsating music. La Tropicana was not for the faint-hearted.

"Quite a spectacle, wouldn't you agree?" Jack asked, leaning back in his chair and observing the chorus line on the catwalk immediately above them. He squinted with one eye and added, "Sort of like fighting along a yardarm, come to think of it."

The show did remind Will somewhat of a battle. He watched in amusement as those seated in the front rows duck as sequinned and befeathered mauraders high-kicked their way towards them. Behind them, a crew of dancers, camouflaged as chandeliers, were advancing while airborne reinforcements, stripped for action in G-strings and nipple tassels, descended illuminated ladders from the dark skies.

"Beats skeleton pirates any day," Will agreed.

They left the dining room and bronzed-skinned beauties to the tourists and made their way to the gaming room, where Jack was determined to try his hand at roulette. They wandered around the casino, stopping now and then to play a game of chance. All around them was the carnival atmosphere of the casino, the constant movement and music, the roll of the dice, the turn of the roulette wheel, the clicks and bells of the slot machines.

While Jack played roulette, Will played the slot machines. Placing a coin in a machine, he suddenly chuckled to himself. How easy it would be to just poke a finger through the glass and stop the spinning disks and win the jackpot. _Jackpot_. Will laughed out loud, struck by the irony of the word. And why not? Why not seize the moment, instead of relying on chance to deal the cards? As he knew first hand, the fickle goddess Fortuna did not always smile down upon the hapless player in the game of life.

Had it been mere chance by which Her wheel had turned, much like the roulette wheel that Jack was placing bets against? Or had Destiny placed her hand upon the wheel and given it a spin? Either way, the facts remained that life was nothing more than a series of chances, each one to be either capitalized upon or squandered. Looking around at the sea of faces – the old, the young, laughing faces that drifted from game to game, from chance to chance – Will could not help but wonder what brought them together here in this space in time. Was it lust for gold, that age-old folly and blindness that had plagued mankind from the beginning of time? After all, what was this modern race for wealth and social position but the gambling away of life – a fascination which led men and women, despite the loveliness of a tropical paradise surrounding them, to spend their days and their nights in the painted and gilded halls of the casino, with its brilliant lights and varied crowd, watching the revolutions of a little ball round a spinning wheel.

Jack had his own explanation, when they had finally left the casino at two o'clock in the morning. As they walked through the casino, with its opulent fixtures: the glittering walls, the carpeted stairs, the majestic chandeliers, Jack had said, "All that glitters is gold, the rest is only fantasy."

---------

Will reflected back on that night, traveling back to a time out of time. Havana time had been like that in those days. Stepping in and out of the Tropicana had been like stepping in and out of reality. Inside, it was glitz and glitter and wealth. Outside, it was gloom and darkness and poverty and simmering rage. On the drive through Havana on their way to the Tropicana, they had passed the beggars in the plaza, blind and disfigured, the children in the streets, like bunches of rags and bones. This was the other side of paradise.

Havana, "one of the wickedest cities in the world," the "Monte Carlo of the Americas, a paradise of tropical joy," a city of skyscrapers and luxurious mansions – this tourist conception, had never truly reflected Cuban life; for behind the romantic postcards sold for the benefit of visitors there existed the very real misery of millions.

Misery that had fueled a revolution.

Yet, Will smiled, there had been peace in paradise, if only for a short while. He stood and went to the window, beyond the frosted panes the snow lay thick upon the ground. Smiling to himself, determined not to let a revolution ruin his memories, he rummaged around in the cupboard over the refrigerator, pushing aside the many seldom used items stored there until he found them.

Humming to himself, Will set about preparing for Jack's return from the museum. At the stroke of six, as the sound of Jack's key scraped in the latch, Will carefully lit the candles and placed the needle of the ancient phonograph onto the spinning vinyl, the sounds of Benny Moré flooding the room. Will, dressed in a black silk shirt and white linen slacks, met Jack at the door, handing him a fresh mojito in a tall glass, complete with colorful umbrella. To Jack's delighted smile, Will led him into the room and swaying seductively to the rumba beat asked, "May I have this dance?"

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	7. Chapter 7

_Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. _

Chief Si'ahl (Seattle)

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The sight of the small willow hoop barely fitting into the pocket, covered with thin strings of leather, sinewy strands crisscrossing within to form an intricate web, a brown bead seated in the center, sent an ancient shiver through Will's spine.

Leaning back into Jack, who had been standing behind him eagerly, Will closed his eyes and lost himself into the security of Jack's arms, gently dandled to meet another memory.

--------------

It was when Will's recurring nightmares, the ones where Jack was run through by Barbossa's sword, became less frequent, the ones where Jack turned into a loveless monster in the cutting, cold light of the moon, abated, and the terror of waking up into another nightmare, over and over again to find a fleshless skull resting next to him, grinning a dead smile which tore the mind of the man teetering on the brink of slumber, where grown men were but babes again, afraid of finding their worst fears staring at them, if they dared to open their eyes when they, finally, finally awoke into reality.

Jack had gone beyond measure to banish the devils dwelling in Will's mind.

Whenever Will had startled from his sleep, terrified, whimpering incoherent words among which Jack could make heartbreaking pleads to heathen gods, prayers begging for them to undo what they'd done, curses, promises of vengeance.

His efforts to claim Will into his arms for sense of safety, to pacify, were forcefully swatted away, the wisps and tendrils of evil spirits coiled around Will's soul more powerful than a mere man's love.

So Jack had waited, counting breaths, the beat of his own heart matching the pulse on Will's neck as he fought his way through the eerie mists, avoiding, eluding the serpents lunging forth from the black dead trees of living Hell.

Night after night, Jack waited for the shuddering, deep breath separating Will from this world and that, and begun to guide him the rest of the way on the path which lead his beloved back to him.

He never embraced Will, not after the first realization that for Will, it was not Jack who held him. Jack did not take Will's hand, nor soothed his face, for the time Will had jolted from his touch, the resulting blabber about bare bones having rooted deep into Jack's core, was a time one too many.

Instead, he curled on their bed to find Will's hand, and breathed.

Warm, living breaths, each one convincing Will further that he was safe, that it was Jack, for there weren't a Caliban in existence which would waste time to give life, instead of taking it. As Will's tense form relaxed, if only a little, Jack moved up along Will's arm, gingerly brushing his lips against the skin, searching and finding small, smooth dots of burn scars, and bestowing a soft kiss on each.

Longer, bolder exhalations to show Will the rest of the way, assured by the wistful gasp of faint realization that it was "_Jack,_" and Jack lift himself higher.

Carefully, unthreatening, mindful that the strands of his hair did not fall on Will's face to break the spell, Jack pressed his lips on Will's temple, silently agreeing that it was him, wordlessly convincing that it would never be anyone else, and slowly moved to give finality to his guidance.

His kisses on Will's eyelids, the lingering tenderness opened the last locks, and Will could open his eyes, only to close them again, as the gathered Jack close, enwrapped him into his gratitude, and after the final trembles of his knotted gut passed, the content of Jack's scent in his nostrils, his leg thrown over his own, him being here, Will slept the rest of the night peacefully, knowing, that Jack would ward off the beasts when they'd emerge again.

When Will's horrors stopped altogether, it was when Jack's nightly torture only begun.

Whether it was a mere coincidence, or if the demons that had bedeviled Will for years on end found more fertile, open ground in the convoluted mind of the older man, it made not a spit of difference, when Jack woke up in the middle of the night, trashing, his throat constricted around a desperate cry, and his chest covered in cold sweat.

Panicking, grasping the sheets frantically, Jack was only pacified when he found the slumber-warm form breathing peacefully next to him, and sleepily tightened his hold securely around Jack when his fingers dug into Will's blessedly dry hair.

After a fortnight of sleepless nights, once Jack was reluctant to even try closing his eyes in fear of finding himself dragging Will's lifeless corpse up on deck, the sole victim of a storm Jack himself had self-sufficiently chosen to face, instead of veering off, far and wide.

In the flickering light of a lantern in the small hours, when they sat talking in bed, Jack's face buried in the crook of Will's neck, his words lost into the man's skin as he tried to formulate his nightmares into speech, yet, unable to utter them, as if blasting them out in the open would make them come true.

Knowing, understanding perhaps better than anyone else ever could, Will cupped Jack's face and saw the remnants of his own fears in the dreading darkness of his eyes. "I once heard a story," Will whispered softly, pulling Jack's head to rest on his shoulder, shifting their covers to keep in their shared warmth.

As Jack wrapped his arm around Will's waist with an encouraging mumble, tossing a leg over his as if to sleep, Will kissed the top of Jack's head thoughtfully, and continued, his fingers finding the Hamsa braided into Jack's hair; "It started with a hoop of strength and unity, made of willow, given to the human kind by the good spirits which roam the earth and inhabit the trees and rock, even the seas."

"All evidence to the contrary."

Will could hear the exhausted smirk through Jack's voice, a rush of tenderness settling pleasantly into his heart at the sound. "I said good spirits. Not fickle and capricious."

"Oh, alright then. Do go on," Jack sank lower on the bed, his head on Will's chest, and grasped Will's arm to have it around him.

"To fight the good spirits, the evil ones--"

"I knew it!"

"_The evil ones_," pointedly ignoring Jack's remark, Will only found another trinket to fiddle with, "saw the night as their reign, and angered by the gift given to men, filled the night air with bad dreams, destroying the strength, and wedging cracks into the unity, until all became weak and disheartened."

"Sounds about right."

"But the hoop of willow had a spirit of its own, and upon seeing what was taking place, it came forth, and gave the men a spider, a bead, and soft feathers."

"How maddeningly unhelpful."

"_The spider_," Will tugged a strand of Jack's hair lightly, earning a small chuckle in return, "quickly wove a beautiful web across the hoop, and dragged the bead in the middle." With his fingers traveling along Jack's chest, Will illustrated his tale, "then it took the feathers and knitted them to the creation."

"Then what happened?" Jack lift his head at Will pausing, the pleasant circling on his chest stopping, and found him frowning. "I'm trying to remember… A hawk."

"A hawk."

"Yes," Will returned to fondling Jack's chest, causing the man to pillow his head on Will's with a content sigh. "The spider turned into a hawk, which had given the feathers."

"No wonder you were confused."

"And then it spoke."

"Did it now?"

"The hawk explained that all the bad dreams would get caught in the web and get lost in the tangles, finding not a way out, but be locked away in the bead, while the good dreams would flow freely, dancing and slipping through the holes, and sliding down the feathers, delivering the blessings of the good spirits onto the sleeper."

"I could use some of that."

"Then it took the thing and flew high up to the roof of the Earth and fastened it there, so that all ill would be trapped in it, and would never plague the world again."

"Obviously that didn't work too well."

Cued in by Jack's half-asleep grumble, Will reached to douse the lamp and wiggled down the bed, nose level to Jack. "No. But it's not the only one." A tender kiss goodnight, and before long, the restful breathing of two men filled the cabin.

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"Will?" Jack stood, mystified, at a market table in Mexico, staring at a ring covered with leather, sinew straining across it, with a bead in the dead center, dark feathers attached to it, perfecting the image Jack had formed in his mind from a certain description. Grinning, Jack turned to Will, sheer glee shining on his face; "You think this one will do the trick?"

Whether it _was_ the great hawk under whose wings they were protected once the catcher of their nightmares was duly fastened to their cabin, or if it were the evil spirits having found men who together could best even the most fearsome of evils, it mattered none, as they slept peacefully in a tangled mess of their own, blessedly rid of death and bone-white rictuses.

Right until the next bell.

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"Of course it's not the same one, but it's the closest I could find." Jack whispered, plucking the loop from Will and holding it up for them both to see, shaking it a little so that the feathers fluttered. Giving the dreamcatcher back to Will, but not letting go of his hand while he rounded to face him and regarded Will solemnly. "It was never meant to last forever." Smiling through his forlorn tone Jack smoothed out the feathers to Will's palm, then delved his fingers under Will's sleeve, finding a scar to caress. "But it served well in giving us one."


End file.
